If my body is a temple then I’m a terrible God.

Seriously. I just ate a reheated taco, two chocolate swiss rolls and half a thing of extra fatty vanilla egg nog for no reason. My right eyelid is twitching. I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Apparently such food will clog your arteries and stuff? That’s taking room away from all of my (potential)¬†worshipers!

Or maybe the body is a temple that is meant to be observed and worshiped externally. That’s weird. I mean, I’m not super unattractive or anything but I’m no . . . Uh . . . Van Diesel or anything. I also have a moderate amount of body hair and my girlfriend tells me it looks like I have a hair backpack.

The idea of my body being a temple is also foreign to me. For one, I don’t believe in any sort of theistic beliefs. Regarding the more non-theistic belief systems . . . I don’t feel like I’m wise enough to be comfortable knowing that somebody is devoting their willpower to my teachings. Frig, I spend my spare time drawing bees in MS Paint!

I suppose I could take the statement at its intended (modern) meaning. The specific wording is still a bit off to me though. With regards to an actual temple the person who owns the building doesn’t really expend any more effort into its upkeep than the owner of any other high-class building. The devotees of a temple may help financially but that doesn’t really seem to apply when a person starts taking care of their own body. Unless people wanna donate money to get me healthy? I know I’d eat much better if I was given free healthy/tasty food all the time, and I wouldn’t mind having my gym membership paid for by others as well.

In the end, I should probably stop worrying about the inaccuracies of old analogies and hit up the gym or something.


Sitting down with a mug of hot chocolate, I begin to type out my heart.

*Whew* This writing thing can be tough sometimes. A mug of hot chocolate always helps though. I’ll just take another sip . . . Wait, why is my lip stuck? I tug on the mug to no avail.

Then the hot chocolate began to slurp me. The slurper has become the slurped? Confusion from having my lip being sucked in turned into horror as my head was thrust into the mug. Nothing in my body felt broken though as far as I could tell. Was I being shrunk somehow as well?

The next thing I knew I was trapped inside of the hot chocolate itself. Upon realizing this I hear my girlfriend coming back from work. I yelled and screamed as much as possible but all I heard was a disappointed “Why did he leave half a mug of hot chocolate sitting around?” as she dumped it into the sink.

Moving through the drainage, the hot chocolate held together quite well. It held me together the whole time. No. That’s not it. I was fusing with the hot chocolate. I had become one with the corn syrup, the corn syrup had become one with me.

Surviving the waste treatment facility I (We?) had made it to the harbour. My high internal heat had caused me to evaporate at an alarming rate. I was only held in a cloud for mere hours before pouring down onto an office building in downtown Halifax.

Despite all of this I already knew what I had to do next. After all, it’s not ever day that you get to torment yourself in the third person.